


Valerie

by flowersforlukey



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Michael, Cousins, Established Relationship, M/M, Mute Luke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforlukey/pseuds/flowersforlukey
Summary: Luke, despite his muteness, is branded as the third son in the Valerie family. He meets his blind cousin, Michael, who shares with him the very same fate they have before finally passing away.





	Valerie

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I'm back with another one shot and this is actually the story I submitted to my English teacher when he asked us to write a short story so I was thinking "why not put this up on ao3?" this is really terrible, im sorry, but im still hoping you'll like it! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

The ringing of the bells topped the headboard in sequence, drawing out a piercing clamor and managing to knock down the shawl loosely hung around the front. The sound mimicked the shrill of the early cries heard at dawn, brisk winds pushed past the window even though quarter to eight in the morning was the time of being sun-kissed, and from a second to five consumed, the duvet on the mattress began shifting from the body's own accord, and quite plodding, Luke had awoken, peeked through his eyelids the image of new morning and closed them when blinking.

Luke, at the age of twenty-one, was about to get branded as the third son in the Valerie family. All seven gates in the palace were opened for the nearing ceremony and quite frankly, Luke has been jittery about it.

It had been lingering in his head for the past few hours of his rest the image of himself covered in white linen but crimson ink dripping on his sleeves, and a blistering sensation too much for what he could ever handle. _It is still yet to happen_ , he thought wordlessly, but still he heard the very faint noises of furniture being held back, hustled and rearranged towards several corners of the room available to make enough space for the nearing branding, which Luke worried not much over since his birthday has long gone and it was believed that branding before one's twenty-first will make them experience recurring skin defects.

A knock on the door brought Luke's thoughts to array. Appearing from the other side is the one of the oldest maidens in the house, Lady Meredith. "Your father is hastening the gathering, shall we get you dressed now?"

Nodding, his hands began to tremble. Another blink and he was witnessing the veins protrude from his skin as the coal gripped by metal tongs seared his skin in a seething _V_ silhouette, costing him audible cries and recurring tremors.

Pairs of hands struggled to fit the hip frame around his petite figure. Luke, in the early age of twenty-one, was disabled to speak. Everyone in the Valerie family has found this too upsetting of a news, nowhere less to his late mother, who had died of severe shock but mainly because of her left arm's deterioration.

"It's going to be on your right arm this time," said Lady Meredith, seeming to have noticed the weary expression on Luke's face. He finished buttoning Luke's vest and handed him the necklace that went with his neck.

...

Luke trailed down the steps with his shoulders pointing out and the stretch of his long legs enthralling every one. Exactly eighteen eyes were busy observing the brave choice of disregarding sleeves for his vest, exposing the porcelain skin untouched specifically for the searing liquid. For a moment, Luke felt claustrophobic, bothered by all glances.

When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he greeted no one, as usual. Still, his smile was reciprocated with encouragement and greetings from his immediate family and the family he was about to become a part of, Valerie.

Someone reached for Luke's hand out of nowhere, frightening him, but soon realizing that it was his father when the gruff voice spoke from behind, "Luke, it's time."

All the escorts guarding the doors began to shut the blinds in the room, allowing no light inside as it would bring difficultly for the still drying liquid placed on one's skin. The room began to dim among all guests, illuminated as slightly as possible with Gregorian candles cluttered from table to another, and faux murmurs about the newborn gradually increasing as the pot of coal got passed onto Andrew who will etch onto his son’s skin the name of what makes of their reign.

Without another word, Andrew plastered the coal onto the porcelain skin, drawing out an audible hiss from Luke as he struggled to breathe through his lungs. _One, two, three_. The sensation was too much, and lowering his eyes he saw the coal covered with the ink that burnt twice as much, finding himself unable to stop the tears from falling, and then breaking down completely, going through a fit of cries that echo throughout the empty corners of the room. This was the branding Luke had been dreading since.

It wasn't a minute later when his father finally damped the skin with thin silk, removing any excess stains from the ink that had been poured over the coal. Luke stared briefly at the red angry mark on his arm placed just a few inches above his elbow, gaping at how larger it was than he had originally thought. Truthfully, it was fascinating, easy to the eye; the swollen skin around the ink was what made the brand much too evident on his skin.

Luke somehow felt the responsibility to proudly wear his family's name on his sleeve.

Everyone threw Luke congratulating messages when he stepped down as a branded Valerie. He knew that this was what he was destined for.

Later when the guests slowly began piling out of the room, Luke noticed a man clad in a shawl and leather boots right behind the pillar from the left wall. Andrew had seemed to notice as well but he was the only one who happened to react.

"Luke," Andrew called out, and he glanced away from the man in haste to look at his father. "I want you to meet someone."

Holding the hand of his father, Luke approached the man who seemed to have been looking at something past their heads. Only Andrew understood this.

Luke's eyes went from his intertwined hands on his lap to the sight of his eyes that seemed to be unfocused before he was called out again by his father.

"Remember when I told you that your aunt gave birth to a boy before your mother passed?" he asked. Luke only nodded to this before looking at the man again. "Well, this is Michael, your cousin."

Michael.

"You won't remember me," the man named Michael chuckled. He seemed very amiable in such a state where none of his hands dare to move to meet Luke's. "But I've heard you're unable to speak."

There was a disgruntled look on Luke's face and it was apparent that his patience was slowly dwindling. He didn't force himself to open up, not in words, but his eyes screamed it.

Andrew made a sound too indecipherable, seeming to notice his son’s discomfort.

And it was as if Michael had noticed as well because there he was, laughing it off while adjusting the lose hem of his shirt. Luke only realized that his hands weren't actually empty but had been gripping onto a cane which now leaned against the wall.

"It's all right if you're mute." Michael clicked his tongue, something he only ever did when he's stirring up an interesting exchange with someone. "It's no problem, I'm blind myself."

He got up from his seat after putting his weight on the crane. Of course, Luke thought. It all made sense. The unfaltering movement of his limbs, the crane, and his unfocused eyes. Of course he would be blind.

Michael passed by them as he led himself and Luke couldn't help but notice how his legs failed to trudge normally, like one of his feet was tied to a boulder that held him back and trailed as he walked. Luke nudged his father and signaled, _why does he walk like that?_

"Michael, son." Andrew called out. "Are your feet all right?"

"I guess," he answered, turning his heel and approaching them both. "It's been a few months since I started limping. So I guess I could say that time is really ticking."

_How unfortunate_ , Luke had thought, seeming to have understood the very vague movement of Michael's lips as he spoke.

Andrew began to wrap an arm around the small of Luke's back, pulling his towards the limp. He followed closely and turned to his father.

"There's something you have to know. This can also give out just why Michael had travelled all the way from the North." he confessed. Michael stirred up and walked closer to them, somehow ending up on Andrew's side.

"The two of you were born with disabilities and unfortunately..." giving Luke a second to breathe, Andrew continued, "that doesn't limit things to just how you're expected to deal with these disabilities. You are both expected to collapse gradually."

It was evident how Andrew was pulled by the news he had said himself, but how Michael’s once cocky grin hastened to develop into a frown, Luke didn’t know. He kept silent and waited for the night to end.

...

A month had passed before Michael returned to the residence strained on a wheelchair with his usual aviators. He was already two months down out of ten and was told to be kept in the Valerie’s before he passes. Luke was all arms and happily welcomed the limp person.

“Your father mentioned how much you loved planting orchids,” Michael smiled, as they strolled down the garden past the doors to the kitchen. Luke slowed down their pace and decided to plop down on the bench with Michael to his left. _Only nine months left_ , he reminded himself.

“Look what I can do!” Upon hearing this, Luke turned to the boy to his left and found Michael making funny faces with his tongue. This made him laugh, making him forget the uneasiness he felt even just for a split second.

“It’s really a shame I can’t see what I’m doing right now.” Michael let out a sigh and adjusted the aviators on the bridge of his nose. When the laughter had finally died down, Luke turned his attention completely to the blind boy. “Do you have any special talents?”

_None,_ he wanted to answer. Luke busied himself with his hands, slowly lifting his right arm up and caressing the receding hair of Michael. He looked beautiful, right there as he stuck himself on a wheelchair and had his eyes flutter shut behind the shadows of his glasses. Nine months left and Michael will be gone.

Grinning, he said, “I’m sure you do.”

...

Baked cookies, lazy Sunday afternoons, pruning the garden… Every memory of them together for the past six months seeped back in his mind one night when he heard Michael’s muffled cries from the other side of the wall. He missed watching his orchids sprout the other day when Michael’s left leg paled then turned red out of nowhere. _Symptoms_ , the word he had been dreading to hear, was being used almost every after a few hours in the day. Michael had now turned completely limp and lost his left leg as well as his hair.

Luke had been seeing fallen scraps of dead skin that came from the ink engrossed on his right arm but he ignored it all. Often at Fridays his hair would fall and his fingers would turn red but everything numbed what he was supposed to be feeling because all that mattered to him now was Michael who would soon pass.

It was on a Wednesday night when Luke’s arm turned completely bright red. Insisting on visiting Michael before running to the hills in the North to have his arm amputated, he fled from his room and trudged toward the staircase when he was met by a sight he wasn’t at all prepared to deal with.

He couldn’t remember what part he saw first. His mind was too fogged, too unfocused to believe what he saw. But he knew that he had seen his cousin sprawled on the top of the staircase swimming in his own pool of blood, his hand keeping the door to his room open, and the other arm glimmering in a bright V shape as it slowly turned transparent and finally disappeared.

Luke could only watch as Michael’s soul separated from his lifeless body and vanished into thin air. The night turned darker and brisk right after his death and Luke suffered as a limp for twelve weeks.

...

The uproar in the palace was put to a halt when informed about the death of a Valerie. Andrew had ordered a ceremony of sacrifice for those who wished to grieve over their loss. Surprisingly, many have offered one of their eyes as to remind everyone of Michael’s blindness. Still at a shock at the unfortunate events that had happened, Luke continued to grow as a limp until both of his arms fell off at the age of twenty-eight.

“To hear your voice, is all I wish.” Andrew stared into the darkness, his eyes stinging. Luke was tucked under a duvet, hairless and weak.

Luke’s thoughts were in disarray but he had enough self-preservation left to keep himself from breaking down as well. He was strong. His father wanted him to be.

It could have been one of the visions that he had been seeing at night but Luke swore it wasn’t. Right there in front him, was an all-too-familiar face with the mischievous grin that never seemed to go away. Michael let out a chuckle, amused by his cousin’s way of reacting.

Luke smiled, happy to see the beautiful boy again.

“How have you been?”

Andrew could not believe his ears when he heard the smallest of voices utter quite too slyly right after he had said this. The sound came from Luke, it had to be, because there was no one else. And it was then, that Luke realized that Michael had been the reason for the halt of his muteness. The friend, a companion of his that shared with him the same fate. When he closed his eyes, Michael was still present. After eleven years, another Valerie has passed away, peacefully, and Luke was not only remembered by his muteness but for the time he had finally been able to recover from his fate and speak as he wished.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it wasn't too bad though lol. I'm itching to write something really heavy about muke but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
